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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29360232">Silence in the Mind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachello344/pseuds/Rachello344'>Rachello344</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon What Canon, Fix-It, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e17-e18 The End of Time, Pre-Slash, The Master no longer has his drums</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:15:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,521</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29360232</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachello344/pseuds/Rachello344</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-EOT fix-it fic.  The Doctor saves the Master's life, doesn't regenerate, and the drums are no longer clattering about in the Master's head.  Together, for the first time since they were boys, they try to figure out where to go from here.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tenth Doctor/The Master (Simm)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Silence in the Mind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Wrote this in one go at work the other day and wanted to get it posted.  I've been on a bit of a kick, and I keep jumping between projects, but I hope the few of you who read this enjoy it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Master’s head spun and whirled and <em>ached</em>.  His body was sore all over, but nothing seemed to be amiss otherwise.  Which was itself odd, he realized.  He was definitely dying, last he was awake.  He used a huge burst of energy to protect the Doctor and get his revenge on Rassilon, and then…  A hand caught at his wrist, he fell backward, and… </p>
<p>He woke up? </p>
<p>He sat up, ignoring the way the room spun.  The drums were gone.  He could hear himself think uninterrupted for the first time in regenerations.  For the first time since he was a <em>child</em>.  He kept anticipating their return, like a particularly insistent case of hiccups, but there was nothing.  Persistently nothing. </p>
<p>How did anyone live like this? </p>
<p>Something tightened around his wrist.  The Doctor was looking up at him, grip firm, eyes anxious.  “Master?” </p>
<p>The usual shivery pleasure of his chosen name on the Doctor’s tongue was amplified by the silence in his head.  His eyes shut against the force of it, breath catching in his chest.  “I never thought…”  He covered his eyes with his free hand.  “I never thought hearing that could be <em>better</em>.  Say it again?” </p>
<p>“Master,” the Doctor said, ever obliging.  <em>Yes.</em>  “What are you talking about?” </p>
<p>He turned his hand over, linking his fingers with the Doctor’s.  He could be forgiven some sentimentality, he decided.  This was unprecedented.  “They’re gone, Doctor.  The drums are gone.” </p>
<p>The crush of the Doctor’s grip should have been painful, but instead, it felt reassuring.  Grounding.  What was he supposed to do now?  And were they even enemies anymore?  The usual parameters blurred around him. </p>
<p>He was on the TARDIS, he realized belatedly.  The thrum of her psychic field was warm and hazy on the edge of his reach.  Comforting, even in her reasonable wariness. </p>
<p>“They’re… gone?  Gone forever?” the Doctor breathed like he could scarcely begin to hope. </p>
<p>The Master kept his hand over his eyes.  “Normally I’m aware of them by now.  Your presence always dampens them, but not to silence.  Never to <em>silence</em>.”  He lowered his hand from his eyes to his mouth.  “Do you know what I’m meant to do now?  I’m…  Well.  Floundering’s a word.” </p>
<p>“I can tell,” the Doctor murmured.  He met the Master’s eyes and didn’t look away.  “You never ask me what I think you should do.” </p>
<p>“Yes, well, I hardly know who I am without the drums, do I?” he snapped.  He covered his eyes again.  He really ought to leave.  It wasn’t right, showing the Doctor his hand like this.  But the thought of being away from the comforting wash of the Doctor’s mind just outside of his was insurmountable. </p>
<p>“You’re brilliant, Master,” the Doctor whispered.  The Master shivered down to his toes with dizzying pleasure.  “Mad, sure, but <em>brilliant</em>.  Greatest mind on Gallifrey.  You’re controlled, though.  Cautious.  You always have a plan.  Your backup plans have backup plans.” </p>
<p>When the Master peeked out from behind his hand, the Doctor’s expression was so painfully earnest that he closed his fingers again.  He couldn’t face that yet.  Not now. </p>
<p>“You hate to lose, especially to me, but when we work together…  When we <em>win</em> together…  Well, I’ve never experienced anything quite like it.”  The Doctor sighed, wistful.  “You used to create the most wonderful things, do you remember?  Your inventions were just <em>gorgeous</em>, Master.  I wonder if you’ll pick it back up without that urge to destroy counteracting it so forcefully.” </p>
<p>“You’re playing your hand, Doctor,” the Master noted.  “You’re not getting sloppy, are you?  We’re enemies, aren’t we?” </p>
<p>The Doctor squeezed his hand, and said, almost too quiet to be heard, “Do we have to be?” </p>
<p>“I’ve killed people,” the Master reminded him.  The Doctor was going off script.  Where was the moral outrage?  The holier-than-thou attitude?  “A lot of them.  I’ve destroyed planets.  Conquered races.  Traumatized your little friends.” </p>
<p>“So have I,” the Doctor admitted. </p>
<p>The Master dropped the hand from his face.  “What?” </p>
<p>The Doctor met his eyes gamely, but he looked somewhere between resigned and devastated.  One of his hearts panged in sympathy.  “Those things you listed.  I’ve done them, too.  And, Master, I’m… I’m tired.  I’m tired of being alone.  I’ve meddled in a fixed point.  And not in a way that <em>caused</em> the point to be fixed, but…  I changed things.” </p>
<p>The Master looked closer, narrowing his eyes until he could see them, the timelines spiraling off of the Doctor, broken and disjointed in a way that could only suggest changing things that mustn’t be changed. </p>
<p>The Master let himself laugh a little.  “How the mighty fall, Doctor.  What did your companion <em>du jour</em> think of that choice?” </p>
<p>The Doctor finally looked down.  He sighed.  “I didn’t have one.” </p>
<p>Realization snapped into place.  The Master stared with mounting delight.  “You use them as your moral compass.  Oh, this is too good; you’ve been doing that this whole time?  Using your little humans to keep you honest?  Hold you to account?” </p>
<p>“What else was I supposed to do?”  The Doctor looked up at him, beseeching.  “I’m a Timelord.  With that kind of power…  Why shouldn’t I save the people who deserve it?  Why shouldn’t I change things?” </p>
<p>The Master leaned closer, squeezing his hand.  “Even I don’t alter fixed points, Doctor,” he breathed.  “Paradox machine, sure, but only in a place where time is still in flux.  Adelaide Brooke and the first Martian colony…  Doctor, you bad boy.” </p>
<p>“Adelaide would have agreed with you.”  The Doctor gave him a self-deprecating and, frankly, miserable smile.  “She told me off, before she…  Well.  Anyway.  They didn’t all die.” </p>
<p>“No, they didn’t.” </p>
<p>“Master, I know…  I know you don’t want to stay, and I know you hate me, but…  At least for a little while, would you?  For my sake.”  The Doctor looked like the words were being dragged out of him by pliers.  “I can’t be alone, and I’m not ready for a new human.”  His gaze dropped to their linked hands.  “They’re so fragile,” he whispered. </p>
<p>“Okay,” the Master said easily. </p>
<p>The Doctor’s head whipped back up.  “Sorry, what?” </p>
<p>“Okay.  I’ll stay.  Not as a prisoner.  Not as a <em>companion</em>.  Not forever.  But I’ll stay for now.  Do you know why?”  The Master leaned even closer. </p>
<p>“No?  I wasn’t expecting—why?  Why now?” the Doctor looked deliciously wrongfooted and unsure. </p>
<p>“Because, Doctor, you finally acknowledged <em>why</em> you want me to stay.  Not for me.  Not to make me better, no.”  The grin on his face felt mean and raw.  “You need me.  You said it yourself: who are you without me?” </p>
<p>“Who are you without the drums?” the Doctor countered. </p>
<p>“I don’t know yet, but I know who you are without me.”  He cupped the Doctor’s cheek with his free hand.  “You’re a Timelord with a savior complex, untempered by the rules we’ve always followed.”  He caressed him with something like adoration.  “And you hate that.  You hate knowing what you’re capable of.” </p>
<p>“Master,” the Doctor tried, but he hesitated, unsure of what he wanted to argue, what he <em>could</em> argue. </p>
<p>“So I’ll stay.  For your sake.  And we’ll see just who I am without those drums driving me to madness.”  He leaned back, pleased when the Doctor’s breath let out in a shaky rush, like it had been held.  “Maybe I’m as mad as ever.  Maybe I’m the boy you knew back home on the planet you destroyed and sealed away twice over.  Maybe I’m worse.  Maybe I’m better.”  He shot the Doctor a smug smile.  “But without me, Doctor, and without your sweet little pets, <em>you</em> are <em>worse</em>.  And we both know that now.” </p>
<p>“Is this punishment?” </p>
<p>The Master laughed.  “Do you want it to be?” </p>
<p>The Doctor didn’t—couldn’t—answer. </p>
<p>The TARDIS pulled at both of them, informing them of an incoming transmission from a distant locale.  Probably a distress call.  The Doctor perked up, giving the Master a look both expectant and hopeful. </p>
<p>“Yes, yes, fine.”  The Master pushed himself up and got off the med bay’s one bed.  “I could do with a bit of a walk after whatever you did to save my life this time.” </p>
<p>The Doctor didn’t explain, instead pulling him down the halls to the main console, thoughts whirling in an excited tangle around them both.  The Master let it wash over him, humming to himself.  For the first time since he was a child, he chose a waltz and enjoyed the absolute lack of discord in his thoughts. </p>
<p>This might not be so bad after all, he decided.  The Doctor was already setting their coordinates to help whatever poor sap was at the other end, his mind racing pleasantly.  The Master stepped up to the console, piloting side by side with the Doctor for the first time since they learned the art. </p>
<p>The Doctor’s boyish grin was contagious; the Master found himself returning it without meaning to. </p>
<p>He’d probably want to kill the Doctor within a week, but what a week it might turn out to be.  The Master had once overthrown an empire in five days.</p>
<p>Anything could happen. </p>
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